


Comfortably Numb

by 1treehill



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1treehill/pseuds/1treehill
Summary: Holden Ford struggles to overcome the effects of a serious brain injury with Bill Tench's help.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Comfortably Numb

**Author's Note:**

> For Rococoa, VivaRockSteady, Lapsi and HighSeasMarginalia, my poorly written latest entry into Holden thump and hurt comfort. Hope it's enjoyable.

Bill Tench placed his notes into his briefcase, contemplating the fact that he didn’t feel the least bit nervous about the upcoming interview. Was this becoming routine? Another day, another killer? He looked over at his partner and recognized signs of anxiety. The young man rubbed his fingers and thumb together, tapped his foot, visible dots of sweat on his brow. Bill blandly wondered if Holden had taken any Valium.

The drive to the prison was typically silent. The two men didn’t have much to talk about lately or, more to the point, were unwilling to discuss anything important. After Atlanta, sharing vital personal information was a sore point. Bill may have kept what was happening to his family from Holden, but he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. Bill knew Holden’s panic disorder was not improving. In fact, it seemed to be growing worse. But Holden had yet to talk to Bill about it even once. Turnabout was fair play, Bill thought sourly.

The two men now occupied a strange and awkward place in each other’s lives— not exactly friends, but nevertheless good partners. They had always worked well together, and thankfully that hadn’t changed. But Bill missed the camaraderie of their first year as partners during their road school days. He didn’t know if they were quite friends at that time, but there was an ease and a level of communication that went a long way toward approximating a good relationship. Now they sat silently in the car, each in their own world.

The Bland Correctional Center loomed on the horizon, and Bill marshaled his wandering thoughts to focus on the job at hand. The prison appeared appropriately named with its gray, nondescript facade, and Bill steeled himself to face another psychotic killer, another depressing collection of criminals.

Holden suddenly stopped Bill before they entered the institution. He actually grabbed Bill’s forearm, and Bill stopped walking, surprised by the physical interaction.

“Bill, can you take the lead today? I’m feeling a bit… anxious,” Holden said, a blush staining his cheeks. He didn’t make eye contact with Bill.

Bill, nonplussed, responded, “Sure. No problem.” He was shocked that Holden would admit such a thing, and a little worried.

“Are you okay?” Bill asked awkwardly.

Holden gave a wry smile. “Yeah, just a bit shaky. But I’m fine. I can still do my job.”

The interview subject, a man named Henry James Cressling, was 49, Caucasian, 6’4” and lean. He had murdered five women and men in the mid-‘60s, mostly hitchhikers he picked up on the roads of Virginia. Cressling was unrepentant and, Bill and Holden hoped, therefore willing to talk about his misdeeds.

As the two FBI agents sat down across a table from Cressling, Bill noted the killer’s sullen glare and sighed internally. In the past, that look on an interviewee’s face usually meant a difficult and ultimately uncooperative subject.

“Mr. Cressling, we’re here to talk about your crimes. Anything said during these interviews will have no reflection on any future attempts at parole…” Bill began.

Cressling interrupted with, “I’m never making parole. You know that,” still not looking at the two men.

Bill continued, “Okay. Let’s start with how you chose your victims.”

“I didn’t choose. They were hitchhiking and they chose to get in my car. What’s so difficult to understand about that?” Cressling responded. He rubbed his hands together as he spoke, the handcuffs linking them clinking quietly.

Holden cleared his throat and asked, “Did you pick up every hitchhiker you saw?”

Cressling finally looked at Holden and stared at him for 30 seconds before answering, “You know that’s fucking impossible.”

“Then you did choose your victims, in a way,” Holden said, staring back.

Cressling suddenly stood up, causing a guard who was standing nearby to shift to attention and put his hand near his firearm.

“You’re being really picky, aren’t you, boy?” Cressling asked Holden menacingly.

“Calm down, Mr. Cressling,” Bill interrupted. “And sit down.”

Instead, Cressling came around the table and approached Holden. The two agents stood up and Bill called for the guard.

Suddenly, Cressling raised his arms and quicker than Bill thought was possible, draped his cuffed arms around Holden’s neck.

Cressling shouted to the guard, “Back off! You do anything, I’ll snap this kid’s head off!”

Holden grabbed at Cressling’s arms, but couldn’t wrench him off. Bill was contemplating rushing Cressling when he heard a loud gunshot.

Bill looked at the young guard and saw a curl of smoke coming out of his gun muzzle. He was about to shout angrily at the guard when he heard a loud thud. Holden and Cressling had fallen to the ground together and lay there, unmoving.

Bill looked on in disbelief and shock, then noticed a growing pool of blood forming underneath Holden’s head. He rushed to the young man’s side.

More guards filed in and disentangled Cressling from Holden’s still body and roughly pushed the killer out of the room. “Get off me, you fucking fuckers!” Cressling shouted.

Bill saw the young guard still standing in the middle of the room, obviously stunned and confused, and yelled, “Get an ambulance, now!”

The guard was shaken out of immobility by Bill’s loud command and nodded and walked unsteadily out of the room.

Bill looked trepidatiously down at Holden to check his condition. He half expected to see a huge hole in his head. But Holden had no visibly obvious wound, though blood was pouring from the right side of his head. Bill took his jacket off and wadded it into a ball and held it against the wound to slow the bleeding. He could hear the guard making a phone call in a quivering voice, asking for an ambulance.

Bill distantly noted that the hand holding his jacket was shaking badly and took a few deep, slow breaths to calm down. Holden’s face was pale, but at least he was still breathing.

After what felt like a lifetime, medics entered the room to take care of Holden. Bill was forced to move back. He felt like he was caught in a nightmare and couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do. The medics wouldn’t allow Bill to ride with Holden in the ambulance, so he followed in his car.

The next thing Bill knew, he was sitting in an ugly wooden chair in the hospital emergency room, waiting to hear about Holden’s condition. He found some coffee in the ER and, feeling more calm, called Gunn and then Wendy. Both were shocked, and Wendy uncharacteristically emotional, when Bill gave them the news. Bill promised to update them as soon as he knew more.

As he sat in the ER, waiting, Bill kept wondering how everything went so wrong. He couldn’t imagine doing anything differently. And Holden had managed to piss the killer off by barely saying a thing. Gunn would certainly want to know how the situation could have been prevented.

Bill also wondered who in Holden’s life he should call. He’d never heard Holden mention any friends. He should probably call Debbie though. Nancy had her phone number. And most disturbingly, Bill didn’t know anything about Holden’s family. He needed to contact his parents and any siblings.

After an hour, Gunn arrived, waving his authority around and demanding information from the doctors. That seemed to work, and an older man wearing glasses low on his nose led Bill and Ted to an office just outside the ER to talk to them, which made Bill nervous. If it was good news, wouldn’t he just give them the information in the ER waiting room?

The doctor introduced himself as Dr. Bloom and thankfully started off with, “Mr. Ford most likely will be fine.” Bill felt himself exhale finally. 

“He received a graze wound on the right side of his head from the bullet. It caused a depression skull fracture, which is very serious. This means the skull was pushed in by the bullet, but fortunately, not by much. I don’t believe he’ll require surgery, which I don’t have to tell you is a good thing. But he has a grade three concussion, so we consider this a traumatic brain injury. I will go into what Mr. Ford might suffer as a consequence of this at a later date. But for now I think we should concentrate on him waking up.”

Bill and Gunn were stunned silent by the information, and Bloom finally added, “Do you have any questions?”

Bill took a breath and asked, “Is there a chance he won’t wake up?”

Dr. Bloom answered, “Head injuries are very difficult to predict. I’m going to say that it’s most likely he will wake up. I can’t guarantee it however. Just be assured that the odds are in Mr. Ford’s favor.”

Bill was unsatisfied with that answer, but had no choice but to accept it.

Later, in the hallway, Bill turned to Gunn and asked, “Sir, do you know who Holden’s emergency contact is?”

Gunn answered with a slight smile, “I believe that would be you, Bill.”

Thrown off, Bill hesitated a moment, then asked, “Do you know who it was before me? I need to get ahold of his parents.”

“Bill, I can look that up when I get back to the office. Give me a call in an hour and I should have the information,” Gunn responded.

Bill called Nancy for Debbie’s phone number and to let her know what happened to Holden. Nancy was quite upset by the news, reminding Bill of how compassionate she could be.

Debbie was clearly upset and told Bill she would visit when her classes allowed.

Bill, out of errands to run, found himself sitting next to an unconscious Holden in the ICU. He was allowed to visit for ten minutes every hour. He just stared at the young man’s pale, slack face, the bandage on the side of his head, the various tubes going into his body, and felt a strange, aching guilt.

If Holden never woke up, the way they left their relationship was… not great. And in this moment of crisis, he had to admit that he cared for Holden as more than just a partner. His stomach was churning and his heart was pounding, literally feeling sick with worry.

Wendy arrived shortly after Bill was kicked out of the ICU. She was the picture of the professional doctor, but her constant questioning of Holden’s treatment drove the doctors and nurses to distraction, and finally Bill had to take her aside.

“You know, Wendy, you can just be a worried colleague. You don’t have to take over Holden’s medical treatment,” Bill told her with a slight smile.

Wendy looked more distraught than Bill had ever seen her, and she finally said, “I don’t want to be a worried friend, Bill. I want to do something, help somehow.”

Bill responded, “Wendy, you are helping by being a friend right now. There’s nothing else for you to do until he wakes up.” Wendy nodded, smiling gratefully at Bill.

Debbie came to the hospital early the next day. Bill was arriving just as Debbie was departing. He noticed her eyes were a bit red, but she seemed composed, calm.

“Thanks for coming,” Bill said, then wondered why he was acting like a party host. “I mean, after you broke up with him, I wasn’t sure where your relationship stood.”

Debbie looked Bill in the eyes and said, “Did I break up with him? Yeah, I guess I did.” Bill stayed silent in his confusion.

“We haven’t really seen each other in a long while, but I still care for him. Let him know that I came by when he wakes up. I’ll come visit again after he wakes when I know he wants me here,” Debbie continued. “Say hi to Nancy.”

Bill was about to tell Debbie that they were now divorced, but stopped for some reason. The usual pang that came with a mention of his ex-wife didn’t happen this time, and he realized he’d started to move on.

After two full days, Holden stubbornly refused to wake up. He didn’t look any different than when he was first hospitalized, but his expressionless face began to deeply concern Bill. Shouldn’t he be waking up by now? It was late afternoon, and the light coming through the blinds lay in stripes on the ceiling of the depressing ICU room. Bill felt the first inklings of hopelessness enter his heart.

Gunn had informed Bill that Holden’s emergency contact before Bill was merely a phone number with no name, that Holden’s mother was deceased and his father’s whereabouts were unknown. Gunn had called the number and got an answering machine for a man named Tom Newly. Newly eventually called back and told Gunn that he had a roommate ten years ago named Joseph Ford, but hadn’t seen him in years. So, a dead end so far. Short of an official FBI search, Holden’s father couldn’t be found.

Four days after being shot, Holden was still unconscious, and the doctors were on the verge of calling it a coma. His vital signs were improving, and they could only assume the brain trauma was more serious than they had initially thought.

Bill was getting desperate. He found himself talking quietly to Holden during his ten-minute visits. He brought up mundane things, like what Brian enjoyed eating these days and how Debbie looked when she had visited. But also more serious subjects like how he and Holden needed to talk more when he woke up, needed to communicate better. The lack of response was weird and frustrating. Weird because this was, well, Holden, and frustrating because what he really wanted to do was shake the man awake.

On the fifth day after the shooting, Holden began showing signs of a higher level of consciousness. His fingers moved a few times and his heart rate was increasing slightly. Dr. Bloom decided it was time to let Bill know the potential problems Holden might have upon waking.

“He might be fine other than some physical weakness and headaches for a time. But most likely he’ll have more serious difficulties,” Dr. Bloom said gently.

“This can include loss of memory, trouble speaking and moving, some emotional problems such as depression or irritability. Physically, he will need to be closely monitored for 4-6 weeks. So when he’s discharged from the hospital, he will need someone to stay with him 24/7. This is a very serious injury, and recovery will take quite a while. You’ll have to be patient with him,” Bloom continued

Bill couldn’t remember the last time he was patient with Holden. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to tell the doctor that Holden had no family and seemed friendless. It was too sad to say aloud.

On the evening of the fifth day, Holden opened his eyes. Just barely, but Bill could see blue peeking out from behind droopy eyelids. The nurse had called Bill in when Holden first woke up, and Bill felt like dancing for joy. But Holden didn’t seem really awake. His eyes didn’t focus on Bill when Bill spoke to him. And he didn’t say a word, even when asked a direct question. He just seemed… barely there.

Then Holden closed his eyes again and quickly fell asleep. But his face wasn’t slack and lacking animation anymore, and Bill took that as a good sign.

A few hours later, after Bill was given the go-ahead to stay in Holden’s room for an unlimited amount of time, Holden woke up again. And as before, his eyes remained unfocused at first. Bill called his name multiple times. Finally, Holden blinked slowly and then his eyes shifted over to Bill’s face. Bill laughed with happiness when their eyes met and was excited when Holden smiled back at him.

“Holden, are you okay? Are you in pain?” Bill asked gently. Holden simply stared at him and then shook his head slightly.

“No? Good. I heard they got you on some nice painkillers. Enjoy ‘em while you can,” Bill said. When Holden didn’t respond, Bill felt a frisson of fear. Holden had yet to say one word.

“Hey, kid. Can you say something? Anything?” Bill asked quietly. Holden responded by looking away from Bill, an unreadable look on his face.

“I just need to know you can. The doctors want to know how you’re doing,” Bill said, looking at a nurse nervously.

Bill thought Holden was going to actively ignore him, but then Holden looked at him again and, so quietly that Bill almost didn’t hear it, said, “Okay.”

Bill could not understand why Holden was speaking so quietly and so reticently, but he figured, baby steps. “Good, good. The nurse is getting your doctor. He’s a good guy. Uh, we’ve been worried about you.” Holden gave Bill a small smile, but didn’t say anything.

Dr. Bloom checked Holden’s vitals, asked a few questions and received a few monosyllabic, quietly spoken answers. Afterwards, Holden was clearly exhausted and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Bloom took Bill aside while Holden slept and said, “It’s difficult to ascertain the extent of the brain damage and how it will manifest itself.”

“Wait a second,” Bill interrupted, “Did you say brain damage?”

“Yes, that is what a traumatic brain injury entails. I’m not suggesting Mr. Ford will be incapacitated completely. He has experienced some brain damage, and it will show itself in some way, but he’s barely conscious now, so we’ll have to wait to do more complex tests later,” Bloom said.

Bill’s heart rate, which had skyrocketed at the phrase “brain damage,” leveled out and he followed up with, “Is that what this no talking business is about?”

“But he did speak,” Bloom contended, looking confused.

“No, you don’t know him. Holden talks. I mean, he talks and talks. This is not like him,” Bill said urgently.

“Mr. Tench, give him time. He’s just woken up after an extended period of unconsciousness. As you just saw, he’s not even able to stay awake for more than short periods of time. Just be thankful that he’s conscious and seems cognizant and clearheaded,” Bloom explained.

Bill took a deep breath and looked back at Holden’s sleeping face. Bloom was right. It was a miracle that Holden woke up. He clearly recognized Bill and even smiled a few times. He answered questions quickly, though hesitantly. Bill was buying trouble.

Wendy and Gunn came to the hospital with a bouquet. Holden had just woken up and looked stunned by the floral display. He stared and then turned pink with embarrassment. Then he smiled at Wendy. “Thanks, Wendy,” he said.

“They’re from me as well, just so you know, Agent Ford,” Gunn said in his usual disingenuous manner.

Holden looked at Gunn with no small amount of confusion and suspicion and then repeated, much less warmly, “Thanks.” Bill had the distinct impression that Holden didn’t recognize the man, and the thought made him feel very uncomfortable.

Bill walked Gunn and Wendy out to the hall, and Wendy said, “Bill, how does he seem to you?”

Bill answered, “Not like himself. Confused, very quiet. The doc said to give him more time to find his feet. But I just feel like something’s wrong.”

Wendy seemed to consider the situation and responded, “The doctor is right. Things will change the more time passes. Try not to worry too much. I thought he appeared quite alert after what he’s been through.”

Gunn said, “I don’t think he knew who I was, to be honest,” and Bill nodded in agreement. They all looked worried.

Gunn walked ahead, and Wendy took the opportunity to ask Bill, “Do you have any idea what will happen once Holden is well enough to be released? He won’t be able to take care of himself for a while.”

“Yeah, the doctor said. I don’t know. He has no family available, and he and Debbie broke up long ago,” Bill said, feeling guilty for some reason.

“Well, we’ll figure it out. He’s family to us. Let’s just take it day by day for now,” Wendy said with a hand on his arm.

Holden was able to stay awake for longer periods, but would occasionally fall asleep while Bill was halfway through a sentence. It was disconcerting, but Dr. Bloom assured him this was to be expected.

Bill sat in his usual chair next to the bed and stared at a sleeping Holden, examining the small patch of shaved hair on the right side of his head. The wound was healing nicely and didn’t look bad at all. Amazing how much damage the bullet did though. 

The doctor had made Holden stand up and try to walk, and he could only take a few unstable steps before he collapsed back into a chair. They tested his cognitive skills, and Holden couldn’t remember the names of some common objects, like “water.” He stared at the flip card showing a bucket of water and managed to remember “bucket,” but was stymied when asked what was in the bucket.

Most concerning to Bill was Holden’s lack of communication. Dr. Bloom could find no reason for his relative muteness, so Bill understood it to be some kind of choice on Holden’s part. But Bill didn’t understand why, and he wanted to demand an answer from his partner, but knew he shouldn’t force the issue.

Days passed, and Bill went back to work, always feeling Holden’s absence. Holden was improving, but there were large holes in his memory. The entirety of the Atlanta case was missing. He recalled visiting Kemper in the CMF, but nothing of the aftermath. He did, in fact, not recognize Gunn, and when Gregg visited, he had no idea who he was either.

As always, Dr. Bloom explained this away with the term “traumatic brain injury” and the word “unpredictable.” But to Bill, Holden seemed like a different person. A night nurse reported to Bill that she found Holden crying in his bed. When she asked what was wrong, he just said, “Scared.”

And one day Bill arrived at the hospital to the startling scene of Holden screaming at a male nurse that he couldn’t remember how to use a spoon. Tears followed the anger, and Holden kept apologizing to the nurse and to Bill.

Finally, Bill asked to speak to Dr. Bloom about the apparent changes in Holden’s personality. Dr. Bloom seemed to carefully choose his words. “There have been cases in the past where victims of traumatic brain injury experienced what their loved ones thought of as complete shifts in what they called their personality. But medical science and these cases show that a personality, or what some people call a soul, could merely be neurological, and that if something affects the brain physiologically, the person can seem very different than before the injury.”

Bill reeled with this information. Could getting shot really change Holden’s personality? 

Bloom continued, “In the mid-19th century, there was a man named Phineas Gage. He was setting explosives as part of his job, and suffered an accident where a metal rod was driven through his head. He survived, but those close to him found him different after the accident. Thoughtful, kind beforehand, he became irritable, rude and prone to making rash decisions. His family said that ‘he was a different person.’

And also there are cases where victims experienced positive personality changes, where they may have been depressed and glum beforehand and then after the accident or illness, they came across as happy and outgoing.”

“So Holden’s going to be a different person from now on?” Bill asked in dismay.

Dr. Bloom looked at him with so much disappointment that Bill actually blushed and felt like apologizing.

“You should try not to think in those terms, Mr. Tench. He’s still your partner. He’s still the same man. His injuries have affected how he’s acting right now, but this could change. He’s also dealing with a great deal of trauma and hopefully temporary disabilities, so this may add to his irritation. Just try to be understanding,” Bloom said gently.

“Believe me, I’m trying. I’m just at a loss here. I almost don’t know how to talk to him, he’s so different,” Bill tried explaining. “But I’ll try harder.”

Bill walked down the hall towards Holden’s room and thought about what Bloom had told him. He was terribly disturbed by the ideas conveyed by the doctor. It went against everything he learned in church. What made a person singular couldn’t possibly be purely neurological, could it? And he couldn’t shake the idea that Holden was consciously making some of these changes in his personality. It seemed so ridiculous that he didn’t even bring up the possibility with Bloom. Not that Bill thought Holden was faking his memory loss, but particularly his quietness seemed like a choice.

He sat down in his usual chair and waited for Holden to wake up, a situation which was getting way too familiar. When Holden opened his eyes, he saw Bill and smiled faintly.

“Hey, kid. How are you feeling? I was wondering how you’re doing with everything since you woke up. I mean, things must seem confusing and a little scary. You know I’m here for you, right?” Bill said kindly.

Holden was quiet for a bit, then said, “Bill, why are you treating me like a kid? I know how you feel about me. You never liked me, and just because I got shot in the head doesn’t mean you have to be nice to me.”

Bill was taken aback. “Holden, we’re friends. We’re partners. I care about you. I know we weren’t exactly best buddies over the past year, but we’ve been through too much together to not be friends. Believe me when I say I only have your best interests in mind. In fact, I was thinking, when you get out of the hospital, maybe you can stay at my place.”

Holden had a look of shock on his face, and he was about to answer, when an older man unfamiliar to Bill walked into the room. Bill knew right away that this man was Holden’s father. He had the same basic figure and very similar facial features.

“Excuse me for interrupting,” the man said.

Holden sat up a bit straighter in surprise and said in the loudest voice used yet since being shot, “Dad! What? What are you doing here?”

“I got the FBI’s message from my old roommate. I heard you were badly injured. I’m here to take care of you,” Holden’s father said. He then turned to Bill, “My name is Joseph Ford.”

Holden was in no condition to apologize for his lapse in manners, and Bill stepped up. “I’m Bill Tench, Holden’s partner at the FBI. It’s nice to meet you.”

As the two Fords conversed, Bill looked over Joseph Ford. He was maybe in his early 60s, handsome if a bit grizzled, and dressed somewhat shabbily. Bill realized that he was saved from having to take care of Holden for a month or so, and waited to feel some relief.

Holden seemed to be having difficulty in recovering from his shock at seeing his father for the first time in 15 years, and Bill stayed while the father and son talked, feeling strangely protective.

“If it’s okay with you, I would like you to come home with me when you’re discharged from the hospital. Your doctor informed me you’d be needing care for at least a month, maybe two,” Joseph Ford said calmly.

Holden opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked over at Bill for half a minute, breathing shakily.

“What’s wrong, Holden?” Bill asked in alarm. “You feeling okay?”

Holden looked away and answered, whisper quiet, “I’m fine.”

“Does that sound all right with you, son?” Joseph said, breaking the growing silence.

“That’s… fine,” Holden said, staring down at his hands.

Bill felt that something was not right, but couldn’t pinpoint the problem, so he said nothing.

Holden continued physical therapy at the hospital, and Wendy came nearly every day to work with Holden on his memory problems. Through questions and tests, she discovered that Holden’s object naming amnesia was lessening but the general amnesia about his own life stubbornly remained. Holden remembered the average amount of his childhood for a person his age, but many more recent memories were missing. Wendy found Holden’s very selective amnesia baffling.

Bill stepped into Wendy’s office to talk about her dealings with Holden. “Do you think Holden’s, you know, personality has changed since being injured, Wendy?” Bill asked.

“If you’re asking if Holden is displaying the attributes of a person who’s gone through an intense trauma and is still recovering, then yes, he is different,” Wendy said, a bit perturbed. “But he’s still Holden. You know, intense, serious… annoying.”

Bill snorted. “Yeah, no kidding. But he seems changed to me. Quiet. I mean, Holden is soft-spoken but he’s never been quiet. He seems depressed and closed up.”

Wendy retorted, “Bill, I can’t say I had as close a relationship with him as you, but I suggest any change you’ve noticed is temporary and a result of what he’s gone through.”

Bill sat back in his chair with both hands palms out. “Okay, okay. Maybe it’s just me. I get the feeling he’s always angry with me.”

“Well, I know things have been somewhat tense between the two of you since the situation in Vacaville. Maybe he’s feeling some anger towards you from that and his amnesia won’t allow him to remember why he’s angry,” Wendy posited.

Bill said, “Oh. You’re probably right. Maybe I’m still getting over what happened too. I feel guilty all the time, and Holden’s anger only makes me feel guiltier somehow. Like I deserve it.”

Wendy looked at him for a bit and said, “Bill, give yourself a break too. You’ve taken personal responsibility for Holden in a way. I know you offered to take care of him. Maybe now that Holden’s father is in the picture, you should take a step back.”

“Maybe,” Bill said thoughtfully.

After two weeks in the hospital, Holden was able to walk with some help, either using a cane or holding on to somebody. Physically he was improving every day. But he was still prone to bouts of extreme depression and anger, and Holden’s frustration was growing.

Bill did take a step back to allow Joseph Ford into Holden’s life. He stopped visiting every day and concentrated on work again. He and Gregg were planning another interview, and Ted made sure new protocols were in place to avoid another Cressling situation. Every interviewee would now be required to wear leg chains as well as cuffs, and the distance between the agents and the convict would have to be at least ten feet.

Wendy continued to work with Holden every day, at no cost and in addition to her hours at the office. She insisted Holden see a therapist to deal with his trauma, memory loss and other changes to his life. She gave him a card for a psychiatrist she insisted was good and empathetic.

Wendy informed Bill that Holden was finally being released from the hospital, and Bill considered stopping by but decided against it. Joseph could take it from here on out.

Joseph Ford held onto his only son’s arm tightly as they walked from the car to his apartment. Holden tried to sway as far away from his father as possible, but the man kept pulling him to his side. Holden noted the less than safe area the apartment was in and tried not to judge.

The father Holden remembered from 15 years ago was an alcoholic. Not a violent or abusive one, but a distant, cold one. He had doled out pain emotionally rather than physically, and Holden’s mother was the number one victim. Holden wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive him.

But Holden let his father back into his life, and why? For the simple reason that there was nobody else to help him. Bill had offered, but though he couldn’t remember the past six months, he knew Bill’s altruism came solely from his guilt. His partner felt bad about what happened to Holden, and his assistance offered a chance for Bill to feel better. He knew this was true because every time Holden aimed a completely undeserved temper tantrum at Bill, instead of telling him to shut up and grow up, Bill simply sucked it up. Bill placated him and babied him, and that was not the Bill Holden knew.

Holden let his father clean his wound, help him walk around the small apartment, cook his meals and do his laundry. The man was constantly hovering, making sure Holden wasn’t about to fall or have a seizure. Holden appreciated it, but the almost crippling depression and strange moments of uncontrollable anger made it hard to deal with his father, a man who was a stranger to him.

Holden tried hard to not yell at Joseph. He didn’t want a scene. That would be intolerable. And the constant struggle was giving him a headache. He’d been to see a neurological specialist a few times and been told he was improving well, but Holden didn’t feel that was true. It took all his energy not to give into the anger, and his father’s presence was bringing up turmoil from his childhood. And hearing the doctor tell him that most likely the memory loss was permanent was a huge blow to Holden. He had been proud of his mind, of his thought processes, but not anymore. He saw his brain as a chunk of Swiss cheese rotting from the inside.

Holden’s father awkwardly talked around Holden’s difficulties. He pretended Holden wasn’t disabled. Ignoring problems was a characteristic of the Fords. Holden let him because what else could he do? The man was trying his best.

Bill and Wendy stopped by Joseph’s apartment to say hello to Holden. Bill noticed his partner was sullen and even quieter than usual. He worried that Joseph was unable to take care of Holden, that his presence after 15 years might be harmful to Holden, that maybe he would have been better off at Bill’s house. But he couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place.

Joseph was serving a simple dinner of spaghetti out of a jar when Holden noticed the faint odor coming from his father’s breath. Liquor. Cheap whiskey, most likely.

Holden exploded, “I thought you said you stopped drinking! I can smell it on your breath.”

Joseph flinched back and put his hands up defensively. “It was only one drink, Holden. I’m sorry. It’s not gonna happen again.”

“I remember! I remember how you abandoned Mom long before you left her!,” Holden shouted. “Out all night drinking, missing work the next morning. Losing jobs right and left. I want to go back to my apartment. I don’t want to be here with you.”

“Holden, calm down. You can’t take care of yourself yet. Let me at least call someone else,” Joseph said, on the edge of tears.

“No! I can take care of myself. I don’t want to see you ever again. I’ve been without you for 15 years. I was fine. I don’t need you. Now, take me home,” Holden said, turning away from his father.

Joseph sniffled and sighed. “Okay, son. I’ll pack your stuff up and drive you home.”

Holden expected those words to bring him relief, but instead all he thought was, “Well, that was easy.”

Wendy strode into Bill’s office with an air of professional urgency. Bill didn’t know what she was going to say, but steeled himself for unpleasantness. Instead she said, “Holden canceled his first appointment with his therapist. Did you know that?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t talked to him in a week,” Bill responded, again feeling the familiar guilt.

Wendy continued as if Bill hadn’t spoken. “Holden’s emotional as well as physical health is dependent on him seeing a therapist on a regular basis. He has not dealt well with his trauma, and I know you know this is true.”

“I haven’t spoken to him!” Bill said defensively. “And I agree with you. He’s having a hard time.”

“Oh,” Wendy said. “I’m sorry, Bill. I didn’t mean to attack you. I’m just frustrated. I don’t know what Holden’s thinking.”

“We should go see him. I’m a little worried about his father taking care of him. I’m not sure that’s a healthy relationship there,” Bill noted.

“Bill, I think you’re jealous,” Wendy said with a smirk.

“What? What are you talking about?” Bill sputtered.

“Never mind,” Wendy said, smiling to herself.

Bill and Wendy were surprised to find Joseph Ford by himself in his small apartment. The entire place smelled of whiskey and cigarette smoke. Bill had to control himself in his anger.

“Do you mean to say that Holden’s been on his own for two weeks?” Bill asked tensely. “You know he’s not able to care for himself, right? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Wendy sent a warning glance Bill’s way and said, “Bill, you’re not helping.”

Joseph looked up at Bill with misty eyes and said, “He demanded I take him home. He caught me drinking again, and he flew into a rage. I was trying my best, but it wasn’t good enough.”

Bill sighed and bit his tongue. Berating the man would do no good.

They quickly made their way to Holden’s apartment, worried and anxious. They were relieved when Holden allowed them up. The door was swung halfway open as they exited the elevator, with no sign of Holden. Bill hesitantly knocked on the door for propriety’s sake. There was no response.

“Holden?” Wendy called out as they walked into the apartment. The young man was slumped on his uncomfortable looking couch. He looked well-groomed as always, but haggard, exhausted. He clearly had lost some weight over the past few weeks.

Bill gingerly sat near Holden and asked, “Are you okay, kid? You really shouldn’t be alone yet.” He noted that he was talking to the young man as if he were a wounded animal.

“No, I’m not okay, Bill. But I’m taking care of myself,” Holden responded. Bill looked around the apartment and saw signs of neglect, with bags of trash pouring out of the kitchen and dirty clothes scattered around.

“We were surprised to find out you left your father’s apartment,” Wendy said. “He’s quite upset.”

Holden looked pained for a moment, then said, “I know. I need to apologize to him. But I couldn’t stay there anymore. Too many bad memories attached to his drinking. I lost my temper… again, and I didn’t give him a chance. But to be honest, he didn’t argue with me.”

Bill said almost without thinking, “Okay, you’re coming home with me. I have that big house with a guest room. I can take a few weeks off work and make sure you get better.”

Holden looked up at him, and Bill was horrified to see his eyes fill with tears. Then his face crumpled and sobs erupted from deep in his chest. Bill didn’t know what to do, so he looked at Wendy with dismay. Wendy rolled her eyes and switched places with Bill and carefully folded Holden into a loose hug.

“It’s all right. Just let it out,” Wendy soothed quietly, rubbing Holden’s back.

Holden pulled himself together and said, “Oh, God, I’m sorry. What is wrong with me?”

“You’re hurt and tired. It’s understandable,” Wendy said, hoping to alleviate the awkwardness. “Come. Let’s get some of your clothes together and get you over to Bill’s place.”

Hearing it said out loud made the idea real in Bill’s mind, and he wondered if he was in over his head. But deep down he knew he wanted to do this, to try to help his partner.

Wendy helped get Holden settled, lying down on Bill’s lumpy green couch, while Bill put new sheets on the guest room bed. The house was in a state not too much better than Holden’s apartment, but at least it was fairly clean. 

Bill put Holden to bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin. Holden was obviously exhausted and allowed the treatment, though even in his state he looked embarrassed. With tears in his eyes, he quietly muttered “Thanks” before closing his eyes, sighing and falling almost instantly asleep.

Bill watched the young man sleep for a minute, a strange and uncomfortable feeling of worry and fondness swirling in his stomach.

The following days saw the two men falling into a routine, with Bill helping Holden walk around the block twice a day, Bill cooking three meals a day for the two of them and Bill driving Holden to his doctor appointments, including the therapist.

Holden’s therapist was a middle-aged woman named Dr. Harrison, who had arthritic fingers and a stern gaze. After a few meetings, Holden realized she was quite soft inside, which made it easy for him to open up eventually.

“Holden, how do you feel about the perceived changes to your personality, the anger, the quietness?” Dr. Harrison asked on the third visit.

Holden was silent for a while, then finally answered, “I’m trying to accept that this is the way I am now, but it’s hard. I don’t want to believe that who I am is purely the way my brain is put together, that now that there’s damage to my brain I’m a different person.”

“Holden, you’re still the same person. The changes to your brain have just added new wrinkles to your personality. I’m not going to say this it temporary because I don’t know that, and I do think you need to accept yourself as you are now and try to work with it,” Harrison said.

Holden replied, “I’m tired of acting like a child, throwing tantrums and crying all the time. I want my memories back. I want to go back to work. I don’t know how I’m going to do that the way I am now. It’s not fair.”

“You’ll get there. I believe this. We’ll work on ways to handle when you feel the anger building or the depression,” Harrison said.

Bill informed Debbie that Holden was living with him, and the next day she came to visit. Holden was surprised to see her, even though he had been told that she had been at the hospital when he was still unconscious.

Debbie sat down next to Holden on the couch, while Bill took a walk to give them privacy.

Debbie looked Holden over and noted, “You look pretty good for a guy who was in a coma a month ago.”

“Yeah, well, you should have seem me a few weeks ago. Bill’s been… really good to me. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay him,” Holden said.

Debbie looked serious suddenly and said, “I want to apologize for not being in contact over the past year. I don’t know how much you remember about us breaking up, but it took me a while to get over us, and I was feeling a lot of anger.”

“I remember everything,” Holden noted, “And you have nothing to apologize for. I don’t think we were good together, but everything that went wrong was my fault. And I’m the one who should apologize.”

“I’d like to stay friends, if you don’t mind. I do miss our conversations. And your weirdness,” Debbie said, smiling.

Holden looked down and said, “I am weird. And I would like to be friends. I need someone in my life who doesn’t care about my feelings.”

“I can do that,” Debbie said and laughed.

Holden continued to improve and was soon able to walk unassisted. His headaches eased and the coping techniques Dr. Harrison set up for him helped him deal with the anger.

Bill, back at work, started thinking Holden could return to the BSU in a few months, which was unthinkable a short while before. He returned home after a day of rather tedious paperwork, and as he was pulling into the driveway, he heard music blasting from inside the house. Annoyed, he opened the front door, ready to lay into Holden, and stopped dead at the sight of Holden on his knees in the living room, curled into himself and bawling.

Thinking he had hurt himself somehow, Bill rushed to Holden’s side, asking, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Holden glanced up with the most devastated look on his face and between gasps, said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! Why am I crying?”

Bill walked to the radio and turned it off, after hearing the lines, “I can’t explain, you would not understand, this is not how I am.”

Bill hurried back to Holden and pulled him gently up and over to the couch. “Holden, it’s okay. You’re fine,” he soothed.

Holden gradually calmed down and couldn’t meet Bill’s eyes. “I feel like we’re two different people now, Bill. I was doing so well, and then I have this crying jag and I feel like I’m never going to be who I used to be. And you’re being so kind and caring, and I don’t understand why. And I don’t even know why I think you wouldn’t be.”

Bill felt awkward and out of sorts. He didn’t feel equipped to handle this kind of situation. “Holden, this is just a little setback. And you may be a little different after your injury, but deep down you’re the same person, with all the good things that means, and all the bad things too. Give yourself a break. You have been doing better.”

Holden said, "And I'm starting to remember bits and pieces of the last six months. What I can recall makes me think I don't want to remember any more."

Looking earnestly at Bill he asked, “Are we just a series of neurons and synapses? Is that all we are? Change a part of the brain and change our personalities?”

“I don’t know,” Bill answered, “but I do believe we’re also more than that.”

“I’m so sorry, Bill. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done to help me. But I think I need to go home and take care of myself,” Holden said.

Bill was slightly taken aback, to his own surprise, but said, “Sure. I think you’re well enough to do that. Why don’t you take it easy today, and we can get you back to your place tomorrow.”

The two men spent the rest of the day quietly relaxing and actually enjoying each other’s company. As Bill was getting ready for bed, he heard Holden’s quiet voice and walked towards it. Holden said, “Dad, I’m really sorry. I’d like to spend some time with you. Yeah, okay. I’ll see you.” Bill smiled and, giving Holden some privacy, went into his bedroom.


End file.
